


holy mother

by Pitseleh



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: M/M, Snippet, historical fuckery, i wrote this at 1am okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-27
Updated: 2010-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pitseleh/pseuds/Pitseleh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurence and Tharkay sit around and talk about mountains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	holy mother

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by reading a fic where Tharkay mentions Mt Everest.

They set up tent far enough away from the pavilion that they needn't worry about disturbance; it is just close enough that a man would be noticed before walking over, and Laurence is confident in Temeraire's ability to mother hen, distracting possible visitors. Though who would visit them at midnight in the Blue Mountains, Laurence cannot guess.

This night, Laurence finds they seem to be past the point of more physical intimacies; when Tharkay says he is too tired, Laurence is more than ready to believe him. It is not easy, getting to this remote location, and Laurence knows how Tharkay travels: alone and friendless, Laurence presumes it must weigh on the mind as it does the body.

Tharkay instead divests Laurence immediately of his coat, shirt, neckcloth, only to chastely place his head upon Laurence's chest, eyes closed. It is the fondest of things, an opinion Laurence would express, if not for Tharkay's hesitance to show any deeper emotion at these meetings of theirs. From this man, Laurence will take what he can get.

Guiltily, Laurence thinks it far past he were in such a position and not Tharkay, if only so Tharkay would be no longer begging for scraps of time and attention.

Laurence feels the sweep of Tharkay's eyelashes on his belly, and assumes Tharkay is asleep, his eyes closed. But when he moves an inch, Tharkay starts, sitting straight up in their tent, blinking.

"Tenzing?" Laurence says, "Tenzing?"

"Ugh," Tharkay shakes his head, pushing Laurence back until he is laying down once more. Tharkay soon joins him on the palette, his head now in the crook of Laurence's neck. "Only dreams," he says.

"Would you care to share them?" Laurence asks, more out of habit than expectation.

And yet, as always, Tharkay surprises. Laurence feels Tharkay's lips move on his skin, curving into a smile, before he speaks. "I dreamed of _Chomolungma_. Do you know it?"

"I... do not." Laurence stares at the roof of their little tent, trying to think if the name itself is familiar, or if that is simply the fate of all Chinese when fallen into his unskilled ears. "It is Chinese?"

"No," Tharkay says, "Though it is of the same cloth, I suppose; the Chinese call it a similar thing. It is a mountain, near my home."

"And you dream of it?" Laurence very gently lays his hand on Tharkay's back; when Tharkay does not object, Laurence takes to rubbing his palm up and down Tharkay's spine, marveling at how Tharkay relaxes under his touch.

"I do," Tharkay says, his breath on Laurence's ear, his warmth on Laurence's breast.


End file.
